


Ice Ice Lady

by fictionfinding



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 5 Times, Defrosting Ice Cream Queen Aranea, Gen, Ice Cream, Kink Meme, One-Sided Prompto/Aranea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:49:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionfinding/pseuds/fictionfinding
Summary: Four times Aranea's surprising generosity left iced treats in her wake and the one time the generosity of others surprised her.





	Ice Ice Lady

“Biggs. Wedge,” Aranea said, striding into the room where they were checking over their weapons in the denouement of securing the Eusciello stronghold.

“Yessir,” they both said, coming to attention. 

“New orders come in already?” asked Biggs. “We hardly just finished securing the fort.”

“News hasn’t had time to catch up with the bigwigs yet,” Aranea said. “We’re here for awhile, you can bet.” 

“So what’s the news, Lady A?” Wedge asked.

“Well, boys,” Aranea said, and with a flourish of her hands revealed three plastic containers stacked on top of each other. “I repatriated these from the catering corps freezer. A little reward for our hard work, if you keep it between us.”

Biggs and Wedge knew what they were about and accepted the small cups of ice cream heartily as the three of them sat down on the scattered metal containers around the room.

“That is a nice treat on an hot one like today,” Biggs said, licking the plain vanilla ice cream off the flat wooden spoon.

“Enjoy it while you can, boys,” Aranea said, bolting hers down with inhuman speed, “Niflheim’s looking outward and we might be stuck in the deserts for awhile.”

“Our just desserts, is it?” Wedge quipped.

Aranea flicked her wooden spoon at his eyes.

* * *

“With all due respect, Chancellor, I don’t see why they put you on my ship for the week if this isn’t some kind of inspection,” Aranea said, sipping at her ice cream float in the tacky red-and-white themed diner, while the Chancellor of Niflheim sat across from her in the booth. This place was a gaudy throwback but not half as much as this guy.

“You mustn’t think so ill of my presence here, dear lady,” he assured with snake-like charm as he waved his long parfait spoon in some dramatic gesture she wasn’t sure she understood. “I seek varied experiences to help connect me to the culture of youth today, and who better to learn from than the Commodore herself.”

“Nice words, but I’m pretty sure if you wanted to learn ‘youth culture’, you’d have better options than following a 28-year old army captain,” she said. Never mind the weird and flimsy excuses he was giving—the pressing thing was she might have to spend all of her non-combat time for the next week entertaining this guy. She needed to know whether this was about her job or not, ‘cause she could only keep dropping “with all due respect” in front of her words for so long before saying to hell with it. Today alone had already been a test of that.

“Nonsense,” he said, returning the spoon to the glass and theatrically scooping out the last of the ulwaat berries, “you are a young woman of noble birth, trained in military arts and beloved by your men, and so well-travelled and well-informed about various localities. I am certain these experiences will be most beneficial in any future enterprises where I must—how to put it—blend in with the young nobles of other regions.”

“Right,” Aranea said. She was not interested unless this was an inspection, which they’d spent the past half-hour establishing it genuinely, entirely, for realsies (and where did he pick that one up?) wasn’t, so she moved on. “How’s the parfait?”

“It is delightful—so beautiful with all its resplendent layers—and yet—it pains me to say this—but I find despite its beauty, it does not in its flavour profile exceed the banana split from before.”

“Try the bacon sundae next,” Aranea said, sliding over the menu.

* * *

“So that was a shitshow,” Aranea said, strolling out from an audience with the Emperor in which the newly appointed High Commander Ravus had more or less been ordered to kill his own sister—who may or may not be the mouthpiece of the gods, what did Aranea know of these things? 

Ravus levelled her an icy glare, but stayed nearby. Understandable since the other possible alternatives were being accosted by Uldor or Besithia. You weren’t spoiled for choice, when it came to keeping company in Niflheim upper ranks.

“So, that new arm made of the same stuff Glauca wore?” Aranea asked out of curiosity, heading down the corridor in the opposite direction she saw the others turning.

“Speak not of that man to me,” Ravus said, his posh Tenebrae accent making the statement sound just as melodramatic as it was. 

“Oh lighten up. You got his job and his fancy tech. You can’t be that upset about it,” she said striding down the hallway.

“I will not have you make me repeat it,” he sniffed.

Aranea rolled her eyes. She had some sympathy for the guy but not that much. “Fine, fancy pants, I’m as bored with this conversation as you are. Oh look,” she said, coming to an abrupt stop in front of a Glacian Dreams vending machine, forcing Ravus to halt with her, “They’ve got one of these here.” 

She waved her gauntlet in front of the scanner that read the barcode embedded on the back of it, and punched the buttons for two popsicles, which abruptly fell out of the slot. She snatched them both up and put one in his magitek hand.

“Here, my treat,” she said. “Hope grape is your thing. Stay sour, High Commander.”

* * *

“That sure was a nasty piece of metalwork,” Aranea said as she watched the felled Iron Giant disappear on the ground.

“‘Preciate the help, as always,” Mr. Muscles said, magicking away his sword.

“It’d be great to have you with us more often,” the blond puppy said without subtlety. 

“Easy there, shortcake,” Aranea said, “I’m just passing through.”

“Well,” Noctis said, “Pass through whenever you like if those things are around.”

“Indeed,” said Four-Eyes.

“I should get moving,” Aranea said, scanning the general area for any signs of lingering daemons. They were quite close to Hammerhead Outpost which meant these guys probably had things under control for the night. She paused when she saw what looked like a cooler plugged in outside the Mini Mart. “Is that what I think it is?”

“What,” Noctis said, but Aranea tuned his princely ass out, making determined strides over to the exterior of the store.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Aranea said, looking into the cooler that was far better stocked than she could have imagined out here in the sticks, “Altissian swirl ice cream cookies. Didn’t think these things existed out here.”

“Altissian swirl?” Noctis asked. 

She looked at him, and the rest of his merry men staring blankly, before saying, “You know what, these are on me.” She fished out a bunch of packages and threw them at each of the party. She went into settle the score with the alarmed shopkeeper before returning outside where the group were eyeing the packages suspiciously.

“It’s a triple-flavour ice-cream in a chocolate cookie, boys,” Aranea said as she opened hers and took a bite. “You can’t go wrong.” 

They looked reassured and started opening their own, although Mr. Muscles was all thumbs with the plastic packaging. Aranea polished hers off and didn’t linger, stuffing the empty wrapper into the prince’s hand. He could deal with it. “I gotta split, see you ‘round,” she said as she sprung up into the air. 

All she heard as she retreated to the airship was a rather mysterious, “That’s it!” but she figured they were probably too busy stuffing their faces to say goodbye and she really didn’t care anyway.

* * *

Aranea rolled into Lestallum with her men to attend to business with the hunting headquarters there. Lestallum’s lights were blinding compared to the heavy darkness around it, and who should she find under them but pretty boy’s retinue (she did feel some of her easy callousness slip away thinking how it was her advice that had probably led to him being sucked into that crystal, never to be seen again).

They made chit-chat for awhile, but she had places to be so she brought the small talk to a close. Before they could move on though, someone, of course, had to chime in with a bright idea.

“You know our place on Galiano St,” said Ignis. “Why don’t you all come by later? I’m certain we could whip you something up to repay you for the service you’ve done us before.”

“Be great to catch up!” Prompto said, hopefully. Aranea was too put off by the goatee to be put off by the over-eagerness. 

“We’ll see,” was all she said. Company didn’t figure into her evening plans as they were.

“Then we’ll let you go,” Gladio said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

In the end, once the hunting and refugee business was finished, Aranea retired to the Leville, letting Biggs and Wedge off the hook to go make as many friends as they wanted among the kingless retainers. She was not in a social mood. Aranea was looking forward to some quality downtime with a hot bath and Lestallum’s greenhouse-grown grape wine for the night before heading back into the field tomorrow, but the invitation from earlier interrupted her plans more forcefully as her cell phone rang loudly throughout the otherwise peaceful room. She waited ten seconds, then picked up.

“I know you weren’t keen on dinner,” said Biggs, “but the boys got a nice surprise waiting for us you won’t want to miss. You oughta come quick, Lady A.”

Aranea pressed her lips firmly together, debating whether to simply hang up without comment, before caving and telling Biggs she’d be around in ten minutes.

When she arrived at the grotesquely homey apartment which Biggs and Wedge had already made themselves quite comfortable in, she didn’t beat around the bush. “Biggs told me you had a surprise I’d like to see,” she said as she was let in the door.

The bouncy blonde was quick to pull out a chair for her. He cleared his throat dramatically while his two companions exchanged wry looks, despite the fact that one of them was blind. Nothing was going to live up to the ceremony, she was pretty sure. She certainly wasn’t holding her breath.

Prompto was going to make it as much of a thing as he could, though, that was obvious. “Presenting,” he said, as he pulled a stainless steel bucket out of the freezer, “Ignis’ gourmet home-made Duscaen Orange gelato!”

“Oh,” Aranea said mildly, taking one of the bowls sitting on the table and handing it over to be filled, “Thanks.”


End file.
